


Love Words

by b_l_u_e__n_i_g_h_t_s



Category: EXO (Band), SHINee, SuperM
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Jongin being soft, Jongin taking care of Taemin, M/M, Onshot, SuperM debut, indirect mentions of homophobia, indirect mentions of suicide, taekai - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 08:25:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20793626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b_l_u_e__n_i_g_h_t_s/pseuds/b_l_u_e__n_i_g_h_t_s
Summary: Love, like pain, comes in waves - hits unexpectedly, crippling in how very deep it runs. How his small human heart can bear it, Jongin doesn’t know.





	Love Words

He finds Taemin on the roof. Practice ended hours ago, everyone exhausted but still buzzing electric with nervous energy before their US-bound flight tomorrow. Taemin is looking up at the full moon that is bathing him in a light not quite of this world. The sky is littered with pinpricks of silver, the night breathing quietly.

Missing somebody is not a steady thing. It hits in waves, almost gone one moment only to return, unexpectedly, crippling in how much it hurts all at once. How the human heart can bear it, Jongin doesn’t know. Taemin’s cheeks are wet, silver tears silently dripping down his chin. There are cracks in Taemin’s chest, running in deep tears through his skin. Cracks that won’t heal. The moonlight finds its way through them, sinking into the life beneath, making Taemin’s skin glow from the inside out.

Sometimes, in moments like this, Jongin’s chest is too cold too tight too small for his lungs, Taemin so far away, his toes touching the water of a river they all have to cross one day. And the need to feel the steady beat of Taemin’s heart, the warmth of his skin, becomes visceral.

Jongin sits down beside Taemin, stretches out his sore legs and knocks their bare feet together. Taemin smells of clean sweat and missed showers, his hair flat and sticking to his forehead. The cool light is throwing deep shadows, marking the groves of acne scars on his jaw. Purple bruises stain the thin skin under his eyes. Taemin’s nails have been bitten down to the skin, blood clinging to the frayed tips of his fingers. There is a stain on his old t-shirt, a hole in the knee of his worn-out practice sweats. And Jongin thinks: Love, like pain, comes in waves - hits unexpectedly, crippling in how very deep it runs. How his small human heart can bear it, Jongin doesn’t know.

He reaches out, touches his fingertips to Taemin’s jaw, tilts his head until their eyes lock. Jongin has never been very good at letting others see him. He learned very young to hide that he is different, the kind of different that is dangerous, that is career-ending. He learned to put up walls, wrap himself in barbed wire. Danger. Keep Out. Nothing to see here. But today he pushes it all down, out of the way, claws at the bricks and the wire until Taemin has a clear view all the way down to the bottom of his soul. Because some things are worth being vulnerable for.

Taemin cries harder, buries his face in the crook of Jongin’s shoulder and soaks his skin in tears and snot and spit. His skin is cool to the touch, but his heart beats steadily against Jongin’s chest. Taemin doesn’t say: I miss him most at times like this. He doesn’t say: I waited for his call to wish me luck, I waited for hours, until I realized that no call would ever come.

Jongin wraps his arms around Taemin and holds him close, holds him together, until the tears dry up. He wipes Taemin’s face with his sleeves, pushes back the hair clinging to his forehead. Jongin pulls Taemin up, one arm around his slim waist. They make their way down to the streets that are never quite empty. They pass a small food stall that is still open and Jongin buys fried chicken in greasy white containers before they share a seat, too small for two, in the back of a cab.

His bags, packed and ready for the next day, greet them in the hallway of his home. Soft, warm lights spring to life in the living room, make Taemin’s skin look less sallow. Jongin sits Taemin down on his couch, grabs a cool bottle of water from the fridge and asks Taemin to drink all of it before opening the containers of steaming hot chicken.

“I really don’t feel like eating,” Taemin says.

Jongin nods, says: “I know, please, only a little, for me.” He waits for Taemin to nod before he feeds him a small bite. They finish the food in silence, Taemin’s breath shallow and broken by quiet sobs. When their bellies are full, Jongin clears away the empty containers and leads Taemin to the bathroom. The walls glow with golden filaments running through the stone like hidden sunlight. Jongin hasn’t been home for more than a few nights in a row in what feels like forever. His life, their lives, always a rush, too hectic and loud and close and crazy, the pressure almost unbearable, hurtling towards a future they don’t really have a say in.

Jongin halts with his fingers bunched in the front of Taemin’s stained t-shirt. He waits for Taemin to nod and whisper: “Please,” before pulling it over his head. There is little choice when it comes to their bodies in the lives they lead. Jongin still vividly remembers the two hour long meeting last week in which twelve important people discussed which shade they were going to color Taemin’s hair for US promotions. He remembers, too, being very young and very shy, his arms wrapped tight around his bare midriff, camera flashes hurting his eyes.

Jongin strips slowly, consciously shuts out memories and the rush of their hectic schedules. He throws their clothes in the general direction of his hamper and pulls Taemin closer, steps into the luxurious, steaming hot water of the shower.

“You’re so warm,” Taemin breathes against Jongin’s bare skin. He flattens his palms against Jongin’s shoulder blades, dips his thumbs into the grooves between his vertebrae. Jongin slots their mouths together without hurry, licks into Taemin’s mouth. He tastes chicken and stale breath, but underneath, the soothing taste of Taemin, familiar and safe. Jongin cradles Taemin’s head in both hands, thumbs caressing the soft skin just behind the hinges of his jaw. He tilts his head to deepen their kiss, presses against the lithe, strong lines of Taemin’s body. The water running over them warms Taemin’s skin. Jongin pulls back to look at Taemin’s full lips, the tiny drops of water clinging to his eyelashes.

“You’re beautiful,” Jongin says. He presses a small, quiet kiss to Taemin’s cheekbone, his nose, his eyebrow, the corner of his mouth.

“Your hair is so pretty,” Jongin says, runs his hands through the wet strands, until letting them rest on Taemin’s neck. “I love how soft your skin feels here,” he breathes as he caresses the fragile groove just beneath the base of Taemin’s skull. More tiny kisses, pressed against cheeks and eyelids, earlobes, collarbones.

Jongin reaches around Taemin to uncap the shampoo. He works up a lather, the shower filling with scents of pines, of the last warm rays of sunshine at dusk, of wide spaces and quiet whispers. He washes Taemin’s hair with all the time in the world, massages his scalp until all the tension bleeds out of his shoulders.

Jongin washes Taemin’s skin with gentle touches, just firm enough not to tickle. He follows his hands with his lips, leaving small love bites in hidden places, careful not to leave any marks. Jongin gets down on his knees, looks up to meet Taemin’s gaze. He sits back on his heels, lifts one of Taemin’s feet onto his thigh and washes it carefully, making sure to rub the dirt from each toe, each vulnerable piece of skin between them. The arch of Taemin’s foot flexes in his grip. There are sore spots and blisters everywhere, shoes made for looks but not for dancing have left their biting marks on Taemin’s heels, his toes, the balls of his feet.

“You work so hard,” Jongin says without looking up. He makes sure not to press down onto the injured skin. When he is done, he runs his knuckles over the knotted, tight muscles of Taemin’s calves, smoothing them out. “You work so hard and you are so incredibly good at what you do.” Kisses on Taemin’s kneecaps, the smooth skin of his thighs.

When Jongin stands back up, Taemin grabs a fist full of his hair, almost painful, and pushes Jongin against the shower wall. He is vibrating, so very alive against Jongin, touching head to toe. Taemin sinks his teeth into Jongin’s shoulder with an impatient growl and Jongin thinks: I’ve missed you. He’s been so busy with shows and campaigns and photo shoots, with practice and annoying business things that they haven’t shared a breath like this in too long. He missed Taemin, even when life was so stressful there was only time for truly feeling things in the few moments between waking and sleep, as the world fell away and reality shifted into dreams.

Taemin pulls back just enough to let Jongin see the open want in his gaze and Jongin wonders how one person can contain so much pain and grief and love and desire at the same time, how Taemin is not coming apart at the seams from it all.

“Your eyes are so beautiful,” Jongin says. Fuck contacts and makeup. Taemin’s gaze turns wicked and he holds Jongin in place as he slowly slides down his body. He kneels, looking up at Jongin through wet lashes. At the first touch of warm lips and hot breath on him, Jongin bites his own lip hard enough to draw blood. Fucking hell. He buries his fingers in Taemin’s hair, not pushing but holding on, pulling just enough to make Taemin whimper sounds Jongin hears in his most private dreams. Jongin leans his head back against the wall, lets his eyes roll back as hot, molten pleasure fills his veins. His head is deliciously empty, Taemin’s mouth pulling embarrassing, broken sounds out of him. He knocks his head back against the tiles, pulls a bit tighter on Taemin’s hair and is rewarded with a sinfully slow drag of soft lips and wet heat. Fuck.

Jongin opens his eyes to see Taemin looking up at him. Taemin curls his tongue in a way that makes Jongin’s knees buckle. He looks like a god, an angel, a demon, so powerful even though he is the one kneeling before Jongin.

“How are you real?”, Jongin asks, his voice catching. It’s the first thing he said to Taemin when they met a lifetime ago – after he saw him dance. He remembers vividly how embarrassed he was – what a freak way to introduce yourself to somebody you just met? Taemin must remember, too, because he pulls away and huffs out a laugh, his eyes scrunching almost shut, the sound dorky and stupid and making him entirely human again. Jongin’s heart trips.

Jongin pulls him up and shuts off the shower, wraps Taemin in a huge, soft towel. He pulls it over both of their heads, making a tiny, safe space for just the two of them, and kisses Taemin deep and open and real. Kisses the way that still scares him a little. They stumble on their way to the bedroom, and snorty giggles escape Jongin’s throat. There is something wonderful about being the opposite of graceful when they’re alone.

Taemin lies down on the bed, arms stretched above his head, invitation in his eyes. Jongin thinks he might go insane. He crawls over Taemin’s outstretched body, softly runs his hands up, shaping his lean waist. He can see the muscles ripple beneath his touch. Jongin wraps the fingers of one hand around Taemin’s wrists, holding tight while sinking down against Taemin’s body, touching everywhere all at once. He revels at the sensory overload, goosebumps prickling on his skin. Jongin licks a wet trail up the column of Taemin’s throat, rocking his hips down, but pulling up before Taemin can grind back against him to find friction. Taemin makes a small, frustrated sound and Jongin grins against his neck, runs his tongue over the artery that pulses just beneath the skin.

“Don’t tease,” Taemin says, his breath ragged. It feels exhilarating that it is Jongin doing this to him. Jongin draws back enough to lock eyes with Taemin, lets a cocky smirk break out on his face. “Oh, I haven’t even started teasing you, yet”, he says, heat pooling low in his belly. Taemin growls deep in his throat, struggles against Jongin’s fingers still pressing his wrists into the mattress.

Jongin slides his free hand over Taemin’s smooth skin, grazing his tight nipples. This close, Jongin can feel Taemin’s heart hammering in his chest. He rocks his hips down once, twice, moaning against Taemin’s mouth, catching Taemin’s curses with his lips. Jongin nips at-

With a surprised “oof”, Jongin is flipped onto his back, strong, lithe legs wrapping around his hips, palms pressing flat against his chest.  
“Fuck you,” Taemin huffs, impatience in his eyes and a smug smile on his pretty lips, “enough teasing.” Jongin’s chest shakes and before long he can’t keep the giggles inside anymore. Taemin’s face splits in a bright smile, his eyes shining. They laugh, a little stupid and a little too loud and a little unhinged, until there are tears in their eyes and Jongin’s body feels like there are little happy explosions prickling inside of him.

“I love you,” he says honestly when he can breathe again. Words he was very scared to say for a long time. Taemin’s face melts, he leans forward, snuggles close, brushes his nose against Jongin’s, whispers “I love you” against his lips. Jongin runs warm palms down Taemin’s back, feels muscles flex in response. He sits up, pulls Taemin impossibly closer, their chests flush, Taemin’s legs still wrapped around his hips. The kisses they share melt away the last cold in Taemin’s blood. Jongin can feel the sadness thrumming inside of Taemin’s heart, still, can feel the cracks in his chest, the tears that he will carry with him always. Some wounds run too deep to ever heal.

Jongin caresses the soft spaces between Taemin’s ribs, the ridges of his spine, lets his hands wander, bringing Taemin closer, closer, until there is no space left between them. Jongin lets himself drown in Taemin, let’s Taemin see and feel how deeply he needs, he wants, he loves. He whispers quiet words of praise against Taemin’s skin, buries them in his hair, the crook of his neck, his collarbones. His fingers slip between Taemin’s lips, run a wet trail all the way down his back. Taemin bites Jongin’s lip, gentles the sting with a kiss. His pupils are blown wide, everything open for Jongin to see.

Jongin thinks he may have lost all grip on time and reality when he finally lifts Taemin up in his lap, and rocks his hips up, until they are more one than two. Taemin closes his eyes with a quiet mewl, the sound a stark contrast to the graceful strength of his hips rocking forward.

Jongin hears himself whisper promises against sweat slick skin that tastes like home, feels himself slowly coming apart at the seams, the world breaking up into bursts of light and color around them.

Lose limbed and sated, they shower, clean up and get dressed in soft clothes, Jongin’s sweatshirt swallowing Taemin up. “I miss him so much,” Taemin admits in the quiet, small hours of the night. So they buy flowers at an all-night shop, blue and pink and white and bright yellow. Taemin holds Jongin’s hand, painfully tight, on the silent car ride, only lets go when Jongin has to shift gears. The sky is cloudless still, the full moon bright, when they lay the flowers down on grass damp with dew and Taemin’s silent tears.

“I miss you,” Taemin says, his eyes facing the moon instead of the ground. He talks until sleepiness smooths out the harsh lines on his face, tells the silver moon above about their new concept, the band, that he is finally second oldest in a group, that he made Baekhyun buy them all food every time they went out to eat. There are tears, but there is quiet laughter, too. Taemin talks until his features become soft and he cuddles into Jongin’s embrace. Dawn shimmers on the horizon by then, the faint blush of the aurora wrapping around the cold light of the moon. Taemin falls asleep on the car ride back, his fingers on Jongin’s thigh.

When they are back in Jongin’s bed, they have less than four hours to catch some sleep before they need to head to work, get ready for their flight. Dawn and moonlight, pale pink, bright silver and palest blue, spill through the tall windows, shimmer on Taemin’s face, relaxed and impossibly young. Taemin’s head rests on Jongin’s arm, his hair soft and damp against his skin. Jongin pulls him closer, wraps the sheets around him, listens to the steady beat of his heart, alive alive alive. Jongin knows Taemin is strong enough to deal with things on his own, but he wishes he didn’t have to. He wishes he could hold him safe like this always, keep the world at bay.

“Thank you,” Taemin whispers. Jongin knows that morning will come and reality will break the quiet, that grief and hurt are still there, that nothing is certain. But just for now, he closes his eyes and lets himself drown in this moment in which they are close and safe, everything is sleep-soft and they are so very in love.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the product of insomnia, wine and listening to Chen’s album "April and a Flower” on repeat. I would love to know your thoughts <3 connecting with you always makes me feel less lonely.


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